Eveley looked at him appraisingly. “Nolan Inglish, you are a whole lot cleverer than I ever thought you were. That is real talent. You have found the adjustment this time. I feel it.”
Nolan, intoxicated with the warmth of her voice, the subtle flattery of word and tone, rushed on.
“Let’s find him a house, just a bit of a shack with a little garden and a mangy dog, and then razzle him with the vision of independence, and show him the house.”
Then Eveley stood up. “Will you help me do this, Nolan? You get nicer every day of your life.”
And Nolan, except for the presence of Kitty, would surely have said what he had no earthly business to say to Eveley yet—until circumstances and the Senior Member made it justifiable.
He sat glowering and grim at the Important Meeting the next evening, when he should have been gratified that his presence was desired—for Maley wasn’t there, nor Garland, nor Alverson. But in spite of the Honor, and the Significance, Nolan’s mind was wandering. He lost sight of the Truly Greats, and saw only a cloudy picture of Eveley, soft, sweet and dimply, sitting rapt by the side of the Darned Blue Eyes. And that night, at eleven o’clock, on his way to his modest room, he suddenly started. Coming demurely out of the Grant, he saw Eveley and the blue-eyed one, and laughing beside them, Kitty and some other equally reprehensible being. Nolan could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes.
He fumed openly while he allowed them a decent interval for reaching home, and then called Eveley by telephone.
“Eveley, I thought I saw you and Kitty coming out of the Grant with some men a little while ago.”
“Oh, did you?” Eveley’s voice was vibrant with surprise.
“Yes.”